


Wail, Baby, Wail

by Weiila



Series: Dor'ash and Sarah [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Friendship, Gallows Humor, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-15 12:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11231304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weiila/pseuds/Weiila
Summary: A tale told by a sarcastic and morbid Forsaken woman about idiots and misadventures deep down in crazy elf- and raptor-infested caverns, based on my first in-game foray into the Wailing Caverns as part of a woefully incompetent PUG back in 2007.This is the story that first featured the orc shaman Dor'ash and Forsaken mage Sarah Nebula, and grew into a series about their close but often complicated friendship.





	1. Storytime with the dead girl

**Author's Note:**

> So this story features some in-game mechanics like using hearthstones to teleport, which I do away with in the following stories because it doesn't quite fit. All of my WoW-stories are more or less loosely interconnected and with very few exceptions take place during the Burning Crusade expansion, because they are all old and just getting reposted on AO3.
> 
> Rohdjinn the troll belongs to my best friend, all the other OCs are my inventions.

There was one thing that Jonathan Schiller never quite could get used to about being dead. That one thing – okay, one of many to be perfectly honest, but for the moment this was his main concern – was getting hungry and thirsty. For one, it didn't make sense, now did it? If he was dead, why would he need to eat? He didn't need to sleep, after all. Or maybe it was because he couldn't sleep. It's a bit hard when your eyelids have fallen off.

That he got thirsty, _that_ he could sort of accept. After all, if his tongue was dry as paper it got really, really hard to chant spells right. And being a mage, if he couldn't chant spells right then he was pretty much screwed. Trying to whack a furious centaur over the head with a staff never seemed to work out that well. Wands were a little better, of course, but Jonathan found himself very reserved about using those. He just couldn't help feeling like he was waving a lollipop at whatever savage beasts and murderous creatures were coming at him.

He shook himself out of those thoughts, though he fleetingly wondered what other Hordies – or, Dark Lady forbid, Alliance Fools – would say if they knew that a Forsaken went around thinking about such silly things.

The sun generously shed its searing light upon Ratchet from a cloudless sky, blasting everything within sight with heat. As he walked down the slope into town Jonathan wiped his brow with a bony hand out of pure habit – while he did sweat, he did not actually feel it much. What he did feel was a creeping numbness in his limbs. He could actually see it too, in the way his arm slouched down when he let it drop.

Time to eat.

He rubbed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, testing. There was a smooth scraping sound.

Time to drink, too.

Jonathan felt pretty sure that this was not how hunger and thirst had revealed itself when he was alive. He could not really feel bothered to remember, though. It seemed like too much trouble for nothing.

That line of thought led back to his current situation. While strolling into the sleepy little town he pondered how to deal with his body demanding food and drink. He could easily conjure whatever he wanted, but he pushed that idea away. After spending two days in the middle of a sandy, dusty nowhere, fighting centaurs and living on summoned bread and water, he could tell that his reaction times were slowing.

Ridiculous as it was, his body still craved vitamins, protein, and all that rot. Meanwhile it did not however, obviously, crave full circulation. Jonathan spared a glance at his right arm, at the gap of torn flesh that was his elbow. Pure bone, and then the muscles happily started again a little ways down his forearm as if nothing had happened.

He decided – for probably the fiftieth time – that it wasn't worth scratching his head at. He was an abomination, and that was that. Nobody else seemed to care overmuch, so why should he?

Despite all these philosophical question he was still hungry – technically, at least – and thinking that a proper meal was in order he headed towards the nearest inn. He sniffed the air, catching a faint scent of something cooking. It seemed a nice smell, but it would probably be more useful to people whose noses worked better than his did.

At this time of the day most sane people were asleep, waiting for the stifling heat to pass by. Only goblins could be seen in the streets, too busy making money and planning the demise of the Venture Company to worry about sunstrokes. The inn was probably no less hot than any other place, but it offered a bit of shade and protection from the sun itself at least.

Most tables were empty when he entered. There was one male, teal-skinned troll hunching over a bowl of something edible at one table, and on the other side of the room a dwarf – probably a male, hard to tell in the situation – had fallen asleep with his(?) face pressed against the bar, mug of something forgotten beside his head.

For a moment Jonathan toyed with the idea of freezing the dwarf and smashing his carcass to smithereens. Tempting, but the innkeeper may not like that, unbloody as it would be. More importantly, when he tried opening his mouth to mutter the spell Jonathan found that his lips were dried stuck.

Oh well.

The innkeeper, a goblin like any other – wearing a chef's hat to prove his status – approached the potential customer with that huge smile which every goblin alive seemed to be born with. It was creepy enough to even make Jonathan uncomfortable.

"Welcome!" the goblin cheerfully shrieked. "What can I get you?"

Jonathan's attempt to ask what was on the menu came out as nothing but a dry croaking. With an annoyed look he sighed and pointed at his throat. Though his grin twitched, the innkeeper managed to suppress a snicker.

"I've just gotten a shipment of sweet pumpkin juice," he offered. "Fresh and in the cooler! One silver a tall glass, fifty copper a refill."

It sounded suspiciously like a rip-off in the making, but Jonathan nodded. He was no longer as poor as he had been weeks after waking up from the Lich King's cold, mental embrace-

… ew.

Regardless of misplaced poetry, Jonathan found himself with more monetary gains now than before. As he recovered the skills he knew he had learnt while alive, he could take on more difficult and better jobs. Everyone liked adventurers these days, apparently.

Though he did consider himself more like an ant than an adventurer if he was brutally honest. Everything came down to Lady Sylvanas' wish to destroy the Scourge (and humanity… and every other living thing), didn't it?

Anyway, what he had meant to conclude was that he could afford a drink even if it probably was mixed with more water than regulated.

Jonathan decided that he was thinking too much for a hot day. Maybe it was the lack of nutriments that caused his weary brain to run wild with weird thoughts. He shrugged, absently shaking his dark, worn robe to get rid of the worst sand and dust before he walked further inside the almost empty dining hall/bar.

He could pretty much sit anywhere he pleased-

"'Eeey, Johnny-boy!"

It was an unpleasantly hoarse cooing, grating even on his ears – and so loud that the troll looked up with a start and the dwarf muttered something in his sleep. Jonathan squinted as well as he could – and that wasn't well, considering the state of his eyelids – against the sunlight spilling through the windows, and spotted a third patron. He had not noticed her before due to his eyes not being used to the shadows after the bright outside, and the fact that she was almost hidden behind a potted plant.

Even hearing her voice, he wasn't sure who it was. She did look kind of familiar – or at least her waving of her arm did – but in this light he could not tell much more. Since he obviously had gotten addressed, however, he walked closer. Doing so, he needed to ignore the sniggers from the troll and the goblin in the background. Getting snappy at something so silly would not look nice on his "maintain the Forsakens' reputation" resume.

As he got closer it became alarming apparent that he did know the woman. Alarming because she was obviously drunk out of her skull, and also because she had changed since they had last seen each other. A lot.

"ch'aka'?" he managed to croak.

She probably blinked – or may have, but he did not even know if she, like he, had lost her eyelids somewhere down the road. Two thin, bolted belts laid crossed over her greenish face, covering what may only be the dry scraps that remained of her eyes and making it clear that her nose was long gone. Her mage's staff leant against the wall behind her, her cloak and bags carelessly thrown over a chair.

A moment of confusion passed between them. Finally Jonathan redid the throat-pointing act he had performed for the goblin.

The lady's confusion cracked – after another moment of the belts staring at him – into cackles.

"Oooh, yer too dried up to schpeak!" she drawled, leaning back and pressing a hand to her face as she went about as if this was hysterically funny.

Feeling abashed for the first time in… he couldn't even remember… Jonathan sat down across from her and tried to seem disdainful. After all, one of them had to maintain dignity, and the woman obviously didn't feel like playing the dead-girl stereotype.

Then again, he didn't feel like playing dead-girl either. But somebody had to be a proper Forsaken, right?

He was thinking too much again.

About the time she calmed down enough to sit properly, the innkeeper took the chance to sneak in and put a glass of orange liquid on the table. Jonathan threw the little green man a silver coin without even looking, still trying to seem cool as ice about everything. The goblin quickly scurried off but, like the troll, he remained alert to whatever the heck was going on between the rotting couple. In compare to the Crossroads, Ratchet was pretty dull during the hot hours, and this seemed like comedy gold.

(The Crossroads, of course, being under attack any time of the day, year, and temperature come hell or high water or Christmas.)

Jonathan pushed everything else from his mind and took a deep draught of the pumpkin juice. If it was what he had ordered, or of low or high quality, he did not care. He could tell very little difference anyway. All that mattered was that it finally unlocked his tongue.

"Sarah?" he said, this time managing what he had failed to say earlier.

"There ya go, much better."

She tilted to the side, dreamily drawing an invisible circle with a very pointy finger.

"Well, well, well…" she cooed. "What'sh a hunk of dead meat like yourself doing in a place like thish, hunny?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. Or what remained of it.

"Miss Nebula," he said, managing to sound stern, "you are shaming your Dark Lady, your teachers and yourself with this kind of behavior."

Her smile drained away into a bored look after his first few words, but she did not cut him off. Once he had finished however, she slammed her massive mug into the table, sending dark golden liquid splashing over the wooden slate. Jonathan prided himself with not recoiling, despite his surprise.

"Doncha talk ta me about shaming an' behavior, bush-sh-ter!" she snarled. Then she looked down. "Aww, you made me shpill my drink."

She shrunk back on her seat, pouting but calm. The sudden shift was so surprising that Jonathan at first was taken aback. Considering it for a moment, he decided that it probably looked like something he had said somehow had managed to knock her back into her senses. Yes, maybe he had. Probably less wisely, this sudden feeling of relief gave him enough courage to ask the most pressing thing on his mind.

"Sarah, uh…" he started, lowering his voice.

Letting out a sound of acknowledgement, she turned her face back towards him.

"You, err," he said, fully aware that what he was about to say would be pretty racist and insulting if he was not of the same kind as her, "you look thin."

"Nooo, _really_?"

He winced as she hissed, hoping that she even in her intoxicated state would recognize the truth of his question. "Bony" would be an outright racial slur no matter what, but the fact remained that the dark red robe she wore was sagging against her, err, skinny form. He knew, from knowing her from earlier, that the robe had been costume sewn. It should definitely not be too big for her. It _had_ not been too big for her last he'd seen her.

For a moment it seemed, despite the logic backing his question, that she would throw the mug at him. But then she suddenly slumped backwards again, letting out a hoarse chuckle.

"Yes… yes, I'm thinner. Sylvanas, Thrall, Vol'Jin and Cairne whooping Bloodhoof, I'm thinner."

All of a sudden she seemed perfectly sober.

This change failed to surprise Jonathan. One of the saddest things about being dead, many found, was the inability to stay drunk. Because really, how could you get drunk in the first place? It was as stupid as getting hungry.

Oh, wait.

Regardless of any biological question marks, Sarah plopped her chin on a pale fist.

"There's a long, unpleasant tale behind this. You up for a story time?" she asked.

"Hn, I suppose."

He would not show it, but he found himself curious about what could have sent a mage like Sarah into pursuing a dead (haw, haw) drunk state.

"Great. Hey you!"

She straightened up, waving at the troll and goblin. Neither of them had enough shame to look embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping.

"Why doncha come over here and listen properly?" Sarah loudly said.

"Wait a moment!" Jonathan said, pointing at the innkeeper as he started forwards, "I need something to eat."

The innkeeper stopped, shrugged, and pointed with his thumb at the troll. He, in turn, just put his bowl of lunch to his huge lips and finished whatever was left with a loud slurp.

"The hyena stew seems popular," the goblin cheerfully said. "Three silver a bowl, fifty copper for a slice of bread to go with it."

"No bread," Jonathan quickly said.

"Comin' right up, good sir."

While the goblin disappeared behind the counter, the troll lumbered over. Still wiping his mouth from the remains of his food, he grinned at Sarah.

"I been waitin' to see a dead girl doin' a drunk dance on the table today, mon. Ye gon' and disappoint me now?" he said.

A smirk creased Sarah's lips.

"Maybe later, hun," she said, tapping the sharp end of a finger against the mug in her hand. "Telling you guys about my day just may turn me an alcoholic yet."

The goblin reappeared and placed a bowl of stew in front of Jonathan. The content looked quite questionable, but since his taste buds were long gone he was not one to be picky.

Besides, it could not be worse than his sister Lila's Surprise Stew. Her death had only given her powers to sniff out even more surprising ingredients than before.

He picked up a spoon, but kept watching Sarah with the same interest as the other two men gave her. After taking a final sip from her mug she put it aside and leant back.

"Well, gentlemen," she said, "it all started when I was in Thunder Bluff the other day, and an apothecary asked me to see if I could get her some serpentbloom from the Wailing Caverns."

The goblin made an amused sound, if possible even more interested now. He had apparently heard quite a few entertaining stories from that place, judging from the sadistic glint in his eye.

Though she could not technically glare, Sarah frowned at the stout, green creature. Then she gave a small nod and sigh in acknowledgement.

"I was not about to go in there alone," she continued. "Therefore I headed to the Crossroads to see if anybody else had reason to traverse those caves."

"An' that be when things started goin' wrong, eh mon?" the troll said, his grin almost splitting his face.

Throwing her hands up, Sarah let out a tired sound.

"It looked promising at first!" she groaned. "Turned out I was in luck, or so it seemed. There were three other travelers in the Crossroads who had been planning to try their luck at treasure hunting in the Caverns, and had hoped for a little more help."

She lowered her arms, but stopped her right hand at her face level. The thumb and pinky bent, leaving the remaining fingers stretched upwards.

"Three words, my darlings," she said. "Blood elf paladin."

A collective "uh-ooh…" swooshed through the audience. Sarah slumped, turning her face skywards.

"To be honest though, she was just the icing on the trouble cake," she muttered. "Dark Lady have mercy on the next tauren I see…"

* * *

 

The smell of decay hung heavily in the air, making it no easier for the small group to catch their breath. The constant, distant hissing also made it a little bit more difficult than usual to actually relax enough to rest.

"I'm starting to have my doubts about this," Dor'ash grumbled.

He glared off into the obscure landscape outside of their little hiding place. The small cave offered a bit of shelter, but that was all apart from a bit of view of what laid ahead. The paths of the huge cavern spiraled on along the sides of a cleft, and in the darkness beyond were pinpricks of dancing fires and white flashes of magic. Those pools of light offered no comfort, however.

There were things in here far worse than the brave men and women who dared to breach the depths.

"Whaat? Why?" asked the lithe woman kneeling beside the battle scarred orc, gazing up at him with wide, bright eyes.

He stared at her for a moment before he turned away, suppressing a shudder.

"... nothing. There's just so many of them, that's all."

After another moment he looked back at her.

"Err, you can pull it a little tighter," he said.

She blinked, then turned her felfire-green eyes towards the bandage she was wrapping around his tree trunk of an arm. Frowning slightly she fastened the clip to hold the cloth, and let go.

The bandage slid down to Dor'ash's elbow.

Like it had done the last three times.

"Oh, darn…"

Muttering under her breath, the little lady removed the clip and started to rewrap the bandage over the remains of the wound. She had already healed it but the magic was not strong enough to be trusted with such a deep cut. Seeing as he had been seriously tired out by their long struggle through the caverns, Dor'ash had chosen not to attempt using his own shamanistic powers to heal his wound. Judging from the look on his face, he was rethinking the decision to let the elf make herself useful.

"Really, Celandria, my arm won't break if you pull the bandage tighter," Dor'ash said, speaking through his fangs this time.

The blood elf woman – whose last name probably was Sunrisewatcher or Sparklingstar, if anybody could be bothered to remember – gazed at the orc for another couple of seconds before she nodded and gave the cloth roll a fifth attempt.

In her corner of the alcove, Sarah watched the entire exchange and bit down very hard on her piece of bread to keep from commenting. Maybe two hours ago she would have laughed, but the time for amusement had long passed.

A snappy comment may not seem misplaced, but the last thing they needed right now was for their healer to start crying. The Forsaken lady soothed her annoyance with thinking that Dor'ash probably cursed his own foolishness as much as she did.

During all this the fourth member of the group paced back and forth by the narrow entrance to the cave, peeking outside every other minute.

If she had not spent half a day with him in this godforsaken hole, Sarah would have thought that this was a wise move, a proof of vigilance. But since she HAD spent half a day with the young man in this godforsaken hole, she very well knew that he was not at all vigilant. Only bored.

If she strained her brain, she could remember a time when she had thought that taurens were patient by nature. Maybe that did not pass for those who chose to be warriors, however. Or maybe, she thought in a random moment of optimism, it was just this one in particular.

The optimism died when it realized that even if that was true, Sarah had still been cursed with being on a quest with the world's most impatient tauren.

Celandria finally, somehow, managed to fasten the bandage properly. Giving Dor'ash a ridiculously lovely smile she got up and padded over to the wall to study the gloving moss which covered the rocks. Probably smelling magic.

She had not even gotten to her feet before the pacing tauren whipped around and stared at Dor'ash.

"Are we ready leave?" the warrior asked.

For that question he only got a blank look back. Dor'ash worked his jaw, as if chewing a few choice words he would very much like to shout at this point. But shouting would definitely give them away. Again. Except the last times somebody shouted and caught the attention of even more enemies, it certainly had not been Dor'ash raising his voice at a bad moment.

Sarah could no longer keep her peace.

"Did your parents ever tell you about patience, youngling?" she growled.

When nobody caught on, she sighed.

"I'm talking to you, Damian!" she clarified.

The protruding face turned towards her.

"What?" the tauren said.

"I refuse to take another step before I've rested. My head feels like it's about to explode from all the magic I've already used."

Sarah spoke slower and slower for every word, eyeless face turned up at Damian expectantly – but with very little hope.

"I am a mage," she said, voice turning onto that pedagogical tone used for small children. "I use magic. Magic makes me tired and thirsty. I cannot keep going for now. Do. You. Under. Stand. Me?"

"How long until you will?" he immediately asked, unfazed.

Either unfazed or oblivious.

Sarah's claw-like fingertips dug into the bread.

" _Sit your furry ass down and shut up or I'll rip your tongue out!"_ she would have very much liked to say. But she was better than that. Yes, she was.

She could wait until she could truthfully threaten to burn him alive. For the moment she felt dizzy at the mere idea of focusing fire into her hands.

"One or two hours," she grit out instead.

A deep sigh came out of Damian's wide nostrils.

"Can't you just do it in half an hour?" he asked, "you've been drinking water all day!"

"And that's the only reason I can still talk."

Damian started on another whine when Dor'ash cut him off.

"Do you really feel ready to fight another group of lizards?" the orc snarled.

"Well, I…" Damian shifted his battle axe from one hand to another, weighing it thoughtfully. "I'm sure I could take on one or two."

"Really?" Dor'ash said. "And what will you do when that one or two calls their friends, and suddenly we find ourselves fighting five lizards and two snake druids again?"

Even Damian winced at the very fresh memory. It had not, indeed, been very pleasant at all. They were very lucky indeed to still be alive – well, Sarah notwithstanding.

Yet the tauren found himself very quickly.

"That won't happen if we're careful," he insisted.

Dor'ash reached up with his good arm and rubbed his low forehead very hard.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said. "Except for the fact that you have yet to be careful."

Somehow, it dawned on Damian that he would not win this argument. He looked at Sarah, finding absolutely nothing that looked like support from her. So he turned to the elf by the wall.

"Hey Celly," he loudly said, ignoring Dor'ash snarl at him to lower his voice, "what do you think we should do?"

By this time, the paladin in their troop had finished inspecting the moss – probably finding it less interesting (or less shiny) than she had hoped. She sat cross-legged on the ground, studying her sword for the tiniest speck of dirt or blood. At the sudden nickname she did look up. A moment passed as she frowned and thought, considering the options.

"I think…" she finally started, slowly, "that my feet hurt a bit."

Damian let out a disappointed groan, but his shoulders slumped and he finally sat down. The air suddenly seemed a whole lot easier to breathe. Visibly relaxed, Dor'ash got to his feet and lumbered over to his backpack by the wall. He dug out a water bag and sat down to take a deep, well deserved draught.

The silence lasted for about five seconds before Damian's fingers started drumming against the ground. Breathing out through his nose Dor'ash leant his head back against the cool rock and tried to zone out the sound.

After a little while he felt something poking his arm and looked down, finding that Sarah had scooted closer.

Without even looking up at him she spoke in a low voice.

"I'll be brutally honest and tell you that once I've got four more serpentblooms, I'm out of here. He'll get us killed." Sarah ripped off a piece of bread to make her point. "I've already died once. That's enough." She stuffed the bread into her mouth.

Dor'ash gazed at their companions and nodded without a word.

The only reason they even were in the small cave was that he had literally tackled Damian inside, when the tauren insisted that they should press on – despite the fact that he hardly could stand up straight anymore himself.

"I guess I'll have to-" Dor'ash started.

"Look, how much longer are we going to sit around here?" Damian said, anxiously staring at the outside of their shelter while his hooves clip-clopped against the hard ground.

Dor'ash closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Without looking up, he spoke.

"Sarah."

"Whut?" she grumbled, mouth still full.

"Sheep him."

Damian blinked.

"Wha-?" he started, staring first at Dor'ash, then at Sarah, and back at the orc again.

At first Sarah did not act, which was probably why the tauren neither got up nor pressed his protest. Celindria remained silent, but watched the rest of the group with renewed interest.

Finally Sarah swallowed the bread in her mouth and took a swig from her conjured bottle of water.

"Probably not a good idea," she said. "I can't vouch for what would happen to me if I tried right now."

Dor'ash was about to grunt that he had not been serious, when the undead woman dropped the bread loaf into her lap and raised her hand.

"It's a wonderful idea, though."

A flash of white danced around her fingers, and though Damian leapt into standing his yelp turned into a pathetic little "baa!". He landed on all four in a gloriously wooly shape.

Dor'ash got his hand halfway to his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the threatening explosion of laughter, when the sound of shattered glass caught his full attention. He turned, eyes widening at the sight of Sarah's mouth hanging open, her face turned to the mess of water and glass shards by her knees. Her hand laid in that very mess. The arm, however, still remained somewhat upright, though the now stump at the end of it shook more violently by the second. And so did the rest of her.

"Oh b-b-bloody…"

She did not get further before she crumbled, bones falling from their joints and flesh tearing apart in wet strings. The head shook loose when she crashed, and it rolled away across the floor. Without thinking Dor'ash shot forwards and caught the head by its hair, though he withdrew with a suppressed shudder and curse.

The shaman quickly got to his knees and reached his huge hands towards the sad remains of the Forsaken.

"Hey Cel, help me heal her!" he hissed.

"I refuse."

The elf paladin sheathed her sword and turned her nose up.

"She's a liar," she declared.

There was nothing Dor'ash could do but blink at that one.

After a moment he managed to compose himself enough to ask the obvious.

"… What?"

Celandria pointed at the unmoving remains of the undead woman.

"She _said_ ," the blood elf triumphantly said, "that she couldn't use anymore magic for the next couple of hours." She motioned at the sheep, which wandered around the back of the cave and tried to eat the moss from the wall.

Dor'ash opened his mouth, closed it, then settled for just pointing at Sarah's undone body. Right in that moment, he was pretty sure that he would yell very loudly if he tried to say a single word.

Celandria glanced at what the orc motioned to, but shook her head and folded her arms.

"So? She said that she couldn't do anything more, yet she could."

"It. Killed. Her," Dor'ash managed not to shout.

"And?" Celandria scoffed.

The disconnected head chose that moment to come alive, just when Dor'ash was about to lose his last shred of patience.

"I'm not more dead than usual," the head croaked.

One had to give Dor'ash praise where praise is due for not starting. Then again, he had probably seen a lot worse things in his day. Though seeing Sarah's head roll over on its own to "look" at him with covered eyes, that did have a creep-factor which could curl even an orc's skin.

"Could you move me a little closer to my body?" Sarah said.

"Liar," Celandria coldly said.

Ignoring the elf, Dor'ash grabbed the head by the thin hair spilling down its sides, and lifted it over to where its neck laid, too surprised to even feel disturbed.

"Thanks." Sarah's voice recovered somewhat with the closeness to the rest of her. The lips curled in a sloping sneer. "This was more uncomfortable than I expected. Totally worth it though."

The head rolled slightly, turning towards the sheep.

"Totally worth it."

"You're a liar!" Celandria insisted.

The sneer died and the head rolled back, not even attempting to turn towards the elf. When she realized that she was being ignored, Celandria repeated her claim. Dor'ash rolled his eyes, but remained silent and waiting to see what would happen.

"You do realize that I'm a Forsaken, right?" Sarah drawled. "'Liar' isn't exactly the worst thing I can be called."

"You're still a liar."

"Whatever."

A lingering, creaking sound rose from the heap of bones and cloth as it moved slightly. Something thin with five "legs" crawled out from beneath it all and stood up. Walking on its fingers like a spider, Sarah's hand managed to make it to her face and flopped down across it.

"Arthas," she cursed under her breath. "I do feel worse than Lover's day last year."

"Serves you right," Celandria said, turning her nose even closer to the ceiling. By now she seemed to be looking at the rest of the world with her nostrils. "I'm sure you didn't get any cards or chocolate because everyone knows what you are."

It was definitely not a question.

The heap that was Sarah flapped upwards in a very disturbing arch, then flopped back down when she finished her snorting laughter. Why the lungs seemed to react to the mouth's laugh, even when there was no connection between the two… that was left out of the logic.

"Oh please, little girl. You're _killing_ me with your scorn."

"What happened?" Dor'ash inquired, having discarded the idea of Lovers' day hangovers, "does the positive emotions cause your kind trouble?"

He found himself intrigued, whether it was from concern or curiosity at seeing a Forsaken down for the count and admitting it. In his experience they very much preferred to act as if they were virtually indestructible, and completely indifferent to pain.

Oh wait, that was the same for pretty much everyone on this war torn world. Though some were better than others at pretending.

"No…" Sarah grumbled, the O lingering longer than it had to. "Nothing like that, save all the cuteness making most of us feel sick. No, no…"

She rubbed the side of her face with her fingertips.

"I went up to Thrall and asked him if he'd gotten any candy hearts from Jaina Proudmoore."

The silence which followed was quite an impressive one. Even the sheep looked up and stared at Sarah.

After a while Dor'ash managed to pick his chin up from the floor – not literally, of course – and produce one single syllable.

"… why?"

"Lost a bet," Sarah said. She sounded disturbingly pleased with herself, despite her words.

Clearing his throat, Dor'ash managed to form a better question.

"What happened?"

"Oh, you know…" Sarah muttered, her shoulders creaking. "I found out that the Doomhammer is indeed big and heavy."

* * *

 

"Wait, ya bein' _serious_?" the troll – by now introduced as Rohdjinn, a hunter – interrupted.

Even the goblin's constant smirk had faded into disbelief. Jonathan, meanwhile, was busy burying a snicker in his bony hand.

"Of course I'm serious," Sarah said, grinning to show off two rows of both sharp and chipped teeth. "My neck hasn't been the same since. Look."

She pushed her mug aside and bent forwards over the table, while brushing her hair over a shoulder. On the exposed vertebrae rising up from the remains of her throat, one could clearly see a cluster of spindly cracks covering most of the bones. Sarah waited for a couple of seconds, then straightened up again.

"I've had it healed several times, but the cracks won't go," she said, smirk widening even more. "You should have seen it just afterwards, the priest who fixed it had to mix what remained with glue and work it back like clay."

"Ya know, I always thought you people never did a thing out of duty," the goblin piped up, momentarily removing his hat to scratch his bald green head.

"Some don't," Jonathan offered. "But then again some of us figure that if you're dead, you may as well enjoy it."

While this discussion went on, Sarah peeked into her mug only to notice that it was empty. The goblin, of course, caught on immediately and was ready to catch her gaze once she looked at him.

"I think I'll try a glass of juice for a change," she said and fished a silver coin out of a pocket.

Despite his interest in the story, the innkeeper had no qualms whatsoever with causing a pause for a bit of business. Rohdjinn, however, rapped his two thick fingers against the table as the goblin seemed to keep them waiting.

"You want the wool treatment too?" Sarah asked after a moment, but she did not sound quite vicious.

The young troll grinned around his not yet very large tusks.

"I ain't that bad, mon. 'Cross me heart. Jus' curioos ta find out what ye be doin' next."

Sarah chuckled throatily, shaking her head. The goblin returned and handed her the new drink, and she settled back against the back of her chair with glass in hand.

"Well, my darlings," Sarah said, tapping her neck with a fingertip and giving them all a sunny – if rotting – smile, "should Cairne Bloodhoof or whatshisname who leads the elfies send anyone along to hunt me down, you can be sweethearts and honestly tell them that Thrall already smashed my spine to teeny tiny crumbs." She wagged a finger. "They don't need to know about details like when and why he did it."

Silence.

Suddenly it seemed acutely apparent that no orc, tauren or blood elf was within sight. Especially not any that fitted into Sarah's description of her allies from the caverns.

A gust of wind from the ocean blew a wisp of sand and the shriek of sea gulls into the bar.

"Sarah…?" Jonathan finally, very slowly said.

He did not mind killing useless wretches, but he had to admit that one should not readily admit backstabbing people who technically were allies. At least not while other technically allies were listening. It only made it trickier to claim that the Forsaken were not secretly bent on annihilating everything else as soon as they could.

"I didn't kill them, you silly men," Sarah said, smiling brightly and fully aware of what everyone was thinking.

She let them relax before she continued.

"At least, it wasn't my fault what happened."


	2. Invited to dinner

With a creaking and scraping noise, Sarah waved her arms about. Despite the sound, at least this time the joints didn't break apart. She did a few stretches, and eventually the noise stopped underlining her every movement.

"Alright," she finally said. "I think I'm all set."

"Baa!"

Dor'ash hummed, nodding as he picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Then he looked at the third member of the group.

"How about you, Celandria?" he asked.

"I guess I'm ready to continue," she said with a shrug, getting to her feet.

"Baa! Baa?"

The baaing finally got annoying enough to earn notice. From his corner of the cavern, the sheep looked at the others expectantly. He was practically bouncing on his little cloven hooves.

"Yes, we haven't forgotten about you," Dor'ash muttered. He then looked at Sarah, raising a thick eyebrow.

She just waved a bony hand, focusing on rearranging the bags on her belt.

"I can't just turn him back," she said, and then, a little more cheerfully, "a hit to the head should do it."

"Ah. Right."

Fingers as thick as a man's wrist curled into a massive fist as Dor'ash stepped closer to the suddenly uneasy-looking sheep. The fist went up-

And hesitated for a second.

Then Dor'ash got to his senses. After all, the four of them had just barely made it this far together. Just three would be a stretch – and then, also, Sarah did not plan on staying much longer.

Even as he bonked his fist onto the wooly head, a tiny voice in the back of Dor'ash's brain grumbled that he would regret not taking the chance to leave the foolish young tauren behind.

But the chance had passed. In a poof of smoke the sheep rose up on its hinds, rapidly growing and changing color into a dark brown. Wool became hair and armor, cloven hooves hands and… bigger cloven hooves. Beard, hair and horns sprouted from the growing head.

It was over in two seconds, and then the full grown (though young) tauren was once again with them.

Damian's big mouth opened and Dor'ash folded his arms, fully prepared to meet all the cowish fury of the hairy creature.

"Finally! Let's go!"

And with that shout, Damian stormed out of the cavern, axe and shield in hand.

The other three stared after him, even as the rapid clip-clop rushed further and further away.

Then suddenly there was a loud, distant hiss followed by another shout of Damian's.

"Healer!"

Cursing everything to the twisting nether and back through the frozen north and over to mount Hyjal, Dor'ash stormed after Damian. Celandria followed him, with her mouth still hanging open.

On her part, Sarah let out a loud sigh before stomping after her allies, grumbling to herself all the way.

They were all quite relieved to see Damian only fighting two horse-sized raptors, holding one at bay with his shield and hacking at the other's throat with his axe. It did not quite forgive his dash, but at least there weren't five beasts trying to have taurenburger for dinner this time. He did however stand dangerously close to the gaping cleft which ripped the grand cavern in two pieces.

"Cel, backup! Sarah, the one on the left!" Dor'ash snarled, not even pausing as he rushed forwards with his warhammer ready to strike.

The close to twenty pounds of metal narrowly missed the head of the raptor by Damian's shield, and the monster leapt further backwards while hissing wildly. It didn't see the fireball coming. Shrieking on top of its lungs the unlucky raptor staggered, covered in flames. The pain of having its flesh fried was cut short however, as Dor'ash's hammer slammed into the lizard's scaly, flaming side. There was a crunch of broken bones and the raptor sailed through the air by the force of the strike, going over the edge of the cleft and disappearing into the dark obscurity.

The adventurer's never found out how long it took before the distant, disgusting thump finalized the beast's life. Over all their own fighting, they really could not focus on listening.

Though the battle itself ended quickly, with Damian cutting off the second lizard's head in almost the same instant as Dor'ash sent the first one flying, that was hardly the end of it.

The only pause was the moment it took Dor'ash to breathe in deeply enough.

"What in the name of all demons do you think you're doing?"

A furious orc is a frightening thing. An orc who is furious beyond his own understanding, and still managing not to roar on top of his lungs, that was something that even made Sarah take a step back.

One could understand then, why the demon lords had chosen to make the orcs their pawns.

Damian let out a gurgling sound, which probably was meant as some kind of explanation or at least comment. No more could he do however, because it's a bit hard to speak when you're being lifted off the floor by your throat.

It was even more impressive considering that Dor'ash was about two heads shorter than Damian.

"If you ever, and I mean _ever_ rush ahead like an idiot again," Dor'ash hissed through clenched fangs, "I'm going to rip off your horns, then use them to gauge out your entrails. And then I'll drag you down to camp Taurajo and hang you from the highest totem pole I can find. And I'll hang you by your own bowels. _Understood_?"

Damian, eyes bulging, managed to make an "eep!" sound.

Seemingly satisfied with that, Dor'ash put him down and ceremoniously brushed his own hands off. Then he gave Damian – who was coughing and desperately rubbing his throat – a final warning glare before turning to the ladies. They watched him in silence.

"Well then," the orc growled. "Shall we go?"

Celandria jumped slightly as she was addressed, then shook her head hard.

"That's absolutely obscene!" she declared and turned away.

At that, Dor'ash just let out a grunt and looked at Sarah. She turned her face up, clasping her hands.

"Have my babies," she cooed.

The remaining anger deflated in a blink. In the background, Celandria made yet another disgusted sound and Damian kept gasping for air.

Finally Dor'ash decided that the smirk on Sarah's lips really meant that she was kidding, and he snorted.

"That's absolutely obscene," he echoed, though a whole lot softer than the elf.

"Bah, humbug," Sarah said, giving him a light slap on the arm. "They'd be adorable little biological impossibilities."

"Quite so."

Dor'ash cleared his throat and reassumed his stern look.

"Let's continue onwards," he said, then pointed at Damian. "And you, you're doing as I say and nothing more."

This one time, the tauren shut up. Though he didn't acknowledge the order by a nod or word, the frightened look he gave Dor'ash was satisfying enough.

They continued onwards with Dor'ash in the lead, creeping along in the shadows. The progress was slow, especially as Damian had to walk very carefully not to let his hooves clop against the ground, but for at least five minutes there wasn't much complaining.

Alas, it did not last any longer than those few precious minutes. Not when a magic pyre suddenly flashed ahead of them, casting white light upon the lithe body of a druid. She moved slowly with fluid, snakelike motions, drawing her hands up and around as her voice rose and fell. To the intonations of the ancient words, the flares of magic flashed and danced around her fingers. The light revealed shadows behind the woman, but it was too irregular and weak to properly disclose how many, and what kind of, enemies lurked in the darkness. Only dancing shades cast along the walls and floor, apart from two staffs stuck in the ground. The woman stood just between them.

The rest of the group could practically _hear_ Celandria lick her lips and get that crazy "MAGIC ALERT" look in her eye.

Sarah would never admit that whenever she started charging her fireballs, she felt a little disturbed from noticing the elf staring at her. Or as disturbed as she could get.

"Th-" Damian started, but Dor'ash reached backwards and pinched the protruding mouth shut without even looking.

The druid continued to move her arms, and from her feet suddenly sprung a circle of the same white light along the floor, stopping when its edges met with where the staffs stood. It shed ample light around the woman, and then finally the intruders could see two more druids, both male, and another raptor.

As the female druid raised her hands in front of her chest and held them there, arms trembling with the power she was channeling, the two men began to move. Sliding forwards rather than walking, perfectly in sync, they moved to the borders of the magic circle, towards a staff each.

It took a moment to realize that their every motion was decided by the woman's continued chanting. They moved with its rhythm, practiced to perfection. Led by her voice they raised their hands to the top of either staff and when she let out a sharp hiss they did as well, fingers whipping at the wood. Flames erupted from their fingertips and lit the staffs, turning them into torches.

Though his arm was rather violently pulled back and forth from Damian trying to get free, Dor'ash never took his eyes away from the scene. Though the orc shaman had not spoken of his reason to enter the caverns, his apparent interest in the druids' doings gave some hints.

Sarah took note of this, but only to file away inside her head as things that may turn out to be important to somebody later on. She had long since discovered that whenever you found something unusual in this world, there was _always_ something to it. Even stuff like empty barrels and disembodied talking heads. And somebody always, always wanted to send you running across the entire damn world for something whenever you found something like that.

The line of thought was cut off when Dor'ash suddenly straightened up and turned around, without letting go of Damian. Apparently, the valiant group's leader had seen enough to be satisfied.

"Very well, this is what we'll do," the orc said, pointedly glaring at the still struggling tauren. "We'll fight them."

Damian immediately perked up and stopped trying to break free. This did not save him another glare.

"We'll use a bit of tactics and you will still do as I say, understood?" Dor'ash growled. He did not continue until Damian answered with a strained nod. "Good. What we will do is that Sarah will turn the man on the right into a sheep. Damian attacks the other man first and keep him busy as I frost shock him. Then we get the woman. Together. Cel, you stay back and cast healing spells on us. Sarah, try to keep the lizard frozen to the ground until we can deal with it. Everybody got that?"

Though she was still staring at the magic being channeled by the lady druid, Celandria nodded. Sarah, meanwhile, knocked the side of her hand against her forehead in a half-jocular salute.

Satisfied, Dor'ash looked up at Damian again.

"I'm going to let you go, but you're not going to attack until I say so. Got it?"

Nod-nod.

Though he did let go and turned around, Dor'ash made sure that he blocked Damian's path in case the tauren would still decide to dash ahead like a moron again.

Standing behind the two men with their bodies blocking off most of the light from her hands, Sarah peered towards her designated target and called upon her magical powers.

The druids never saw it coming.

_Poof_!

"Baa?"

"Intruders!"

And a whole lot of hissing. The man who had not been sheeped opted for snaking himself – those being perfectly alright terms in this context of course, stupid as they sounded even to the adventurers – and made a slithery dash to meet the charging tauren. The raptor was just behind him, but the woman opted to stay within the circle, from the look on her face and stance now channeling the magic for more violent methods.

She may have had some troubles focusing if she had noticed the way Celandria stared at her. Amazing, really, that the little blood elf managed to focus enough to drive the pain out of Damian's leg when the giant snake managed to scrape a speck of exposed hide with its sharp tail.

The monster managed to do this by diving past the tauren and whipping at him with the end of its long body. Doing this it also successfully ducked the frost shock bolt, and the magic only managed to create a pool of ice on the floor. Cursing, Dor'ash dove aside to avoid getting friendly with the lightning bolt the lady druid sent his way. The electricity crashed into the cavern wall and erupted, hissing as violently as its users.

While this happened Damian was proving that when it came to actual battle, at least then he knew what he was doing. He had no problems at all sidestepping and blocking the snake's violent, pecking attacks, swinging his axe towards it whenever he had the chance. It slid backwards cautiously, forked tongue furiously whipping at the air and the advancing tauren.

Dor'ash at least got a look around as he turned to help Damian, noting that the raptor was struggling to free itself from the ice clinging to its feet and the floor. The orange light let the orc know everything he needed to know about what Sarah was now planning for the giant lizard.

The catlike shriek, the female voice crying out in disbelief and the hard thump of two bodies hitting the floor, followed by what sounded like violent wrestling, could only mean that Celandria had left her position and gone magic hunting. On the druid. Quite annoying in itself that she had not obeyed orders, and the knowledge that their healer busied herself elsewhere was a tad unpleasant, but not as unpleasant as looking around to tell her to get a grip would be. If so, one would have to actually look and see what the blood elf was doing. Dor'ash thought he could spare himself future nightmares, and opted for simply ignoring the elfish business and focus on killing the monstrous snake.

Taking in a deep breath he focused again, driving icy cold into his hands and into the air. With amazing effort he managed to zone out the sizzling of magical fire being charged.

This time, the snake was too busy trying to avoid getting cleaved. It let out a snarl as the spell exploded into its back, every muscle creaking at the extreme cold.

It had no way to escape, and Damian's axe dug deeply into its head. The body twisted in death throes, whipping about with such force that the tauren had to leap back, tearing his axe free in the same motion.

Satisfied to know that the snake situation was under control, Dor'ash spun around and rushed towards the struggling raptor. It had gotten one foot free but remained stuck with the other still trapped in the ice. Its cold eyes were set and staring quite wildly at the fire still burning around Sarah's hands.

It was well aware that it would hurt. A lot.

However it caught sight of Dor'ash from the corner of its eye and turned towards him, baring all its teeth desperately.

"Incoming!" Sarah snarled, arms whipping forwards.

Dor'ash stopped in mid-step and leapt back. The explosion of the fireball hitting the unfortunate raptor still managed to singe the hair on his chin.

The ice evaporated and the lizard staggered backwards, landing by the edge of the gorge as a heap of burnt bones.

Total overkill.

Dor'ash looked around, having to blink as his eyes struggled to get used to the dusk of the caverns after the bright flash of the fire.

It always made him wonder about how smart monsters really were, seeing as Sarah had practically set off a beacon the size of an ogre… and yet, the entire population of the Wailing Caverns weren't coming down on the intruders in a storm of clawy rage.

The undead mage casually strode forwards and kicked the smoking bones. They scraped against the rock, but were obviously too heavy to be moved much by such a light knock.

"Darn," Sarah said. "I was setting it to 'well done', not 'charred'. Now it's-"

She stopped in mid-morbid-joke, face turned towards what had been the snake druids' magic circle. Dor'ash quickly spun around to see what it was, but found no enemy. Only Celandria walking towards them, a satisfied smile on her lips.

It took a moment before Dor'ash took in the whole scene behind the blood elf.

Of the magic circle only scraps remained, thin, broken threads of magic light. One of the staves had fallen over, the other still standing. Both put out. And in between them laid the remains of something half snake, half humanoid. Away from this Celandria traipsed, almost danced.

Dor'ash cleared his throat and turned to check on Damian, finding that he was calmly wiping the blood from his axe with a piece of cloth.

It took a second, but then the orc took note of the mumbling. He glanced aside, seeing Sarah still seemingly staring at the remains of the druid, greenish lips moving rapidly. Straining his ears, Dor'ash made out the chain of quick words.

"Can't sleep, elves will eat me. Can't sleep, elves will eat me. Can't sleep…"

Which was, as it would turn out, a rather ironic choice of words. In more ways than one.

For the moment though, Dor'ash poked Sarah's shoulder to snap her out of it. She started, falling silent.

"Just kidding…" she muttered. But she did not look up at him – instead she made sure to study every movement Celandria made.

Dor'ash was about to comment about Forsaken not needing sleep at all, when the voice in the back of his head finally managed to make it through. The voice shouting that something was wrong.

Something was missing.

"Wait…" he began, grasping his war hammer tighter. "Where's that sheep?"

In a distance, there was a "baa!". An angry one. And it was followed by the hissing of several raptors, accompanied by their quickly approaching steps.

"They aren't supposed to still be smart when they're sheeped!" Sarah exclaimed, glaring right back when Celandria gave her a dirty look.

Three raptors burst from the darkness, closely followed by the now un-sheeped druid. One of the lizards had probably given him a good knock to turn him back – at least, it looked that way judging from him rubbing the back of his head. He threw out his other hand, sweeping the pointing finger in the direction of all the intruders.

"You will never wake the dreamer!" he called in defiance.

"Why'd we care about some napping sissy?" Sarah yelled back, tearing her staff from her back and throwing out her own hand.

One of the raptors staggered backwards when flames erupted around it, but the others continued undaunted. Sarah opted to make a dash to the side.

"Regroup!" Dor'ash shouted as he threw himself out of the way. "Come to me- _Damian_!"

But instead of heading towards his allies, the tauren charged at the burnt raptor. The giant lizard, though smoke rose from its back, opened its jaw and prepared to meet the warrior. A bolt of lightning threw Damian off his feet and he crashed on the ground, the raptor stampeding towards him with its claws ready to dig through any unarmored piece of hide.

"Fools! You shall perish here!" the druid called, already charging another spell.

Dor'ash didn't roar. He cursed, from the first step through the dash between the two raptors and continued even after he body slammed the raptor just as its clawed foot was about to descend on Damian's face.

Orc and raptor crashed together, mere feet away from the dark void of the gorge. Shaking his head to regain his orientation Dor'ash got to his feet, almost stumbling when the raptor's thrashing tail got beneath his foot.

"Kill the orc!"

"Dor'ash!"

The calls made Dor'ash look up just in time to see one of the other raptors coming right at him. A bolt of ice from the side froze the floor before the great lizard's feet, but the beast was already leaping. It slammed into Dor'ash, sending both of them over the edge and down into the darkness.

The orc's fading scream of rage vibrated, flung between the bare cliff walls as he fell to his death with the raptor.

Sarah took a moment to press her free hand to her forehead, the blue glow for another ice spell wavering dangerously.

"Aw crap," she summarized.

Then she turned around and lowered her eyebrows at the druid. Clenching her hands she killed the last cold, calling fire back into her hand instead. Damian had gotten to his feet and wasted no time cutting off the head of the raptor Dor'ash had tackled. He then turned towards the last lizard, which hissed and clawed the air.

Sarah ignored the tauren, figuring that even if he failed to block the attacks on his own he wouldn't die from a few claw wounds.

Or rather, she no longer cared if he died.

Okay, she had never cared. But now she cared even less.

The druid, noticing the rising glow of fire, locked eyes with the mage… or at least he did a valiant try. A crazy smile touched his lips as the magic around his hands surged, and Sarah responded in turn. The flames cast fluttering shadows over her sunken face, giving it a sickly brown hue.

As if the green hue was any better.

The dancing flames and spinning lightning increased, flaring in the darkness-

The druid had no chance to notice the blood elf who sneaked up behind him, not until she stabbed him straight through his back. With a fading gurgle he slipped downwards off the sword, lightning dying.

It was doubtful that he had safely reached death before Celandria was over him, fingers hooked like claws.

Croaking out a curse at the meddling elf Sarah flung the fireball from her hand towards the fighting raptor and tauren. Damian saw it coming in the last moment and raised his shield, but the raptor shrieked as the fire burnt its tail. Too distracted by the pain, it was an easy target for a well aimed cut of an axe.

As silence fell over the cavern – save the raptors' death throes and the hissing of magic being sucked out of a dead body – Sarah grasped her staff in both hands and heavily leaned on it. That only managed to keep her standing for another second. She sunk to her knees, bones scraping the staff as she tried to maintain her grip.

Despite really wanting to keep an air of cold dignity, she could practically hear her limbs creaking. Threatening to fall apart again.

A shaking hand reached for her belt, fumbling for the bottle of water. She hardly managed to hold it, but tore out the cork with her teeth and took a few deep gulps. Too tired to continue, she let the hand with the bottle sink to the ground and just sat there, hunched and exhausted.

After a little while she looked up, noticing the silence.

Damian stood a little ways away, gazing down into the gorge that had taken Dor'ash. Even Celandria paid attention now, having walked away from the remains of her second druid.

The wind howled in the distance as the three members of the horde contemplated the loss of their little group's leader.

Sarah could tell the very second it dawned on Damian that there no longer was anyone stopping him from going about this whole fighting thing his way. He got a certain look in his eye.

And then he suddenly spun around and charged off into the darkness from whence the druid and last raptors had come. Celandria blinked, but turned to follow him when he passed her.

"Come on Sarah!" the tauren shouted over his shoulder. "What are you waiting for?"

"I need to rest!" Sarah shouted back, automatically.

"You'll be fine, come on!"

But by the time he called that, Sarah had gotten to her senses again. She let out a loud snort and lowered the staff to her lap.

While Dor'ash was there, at least, she had still believed that she could get all the serpentbloom she needed from the cave. Now, she knew it would never happen on this day. She would simply have to come back later.

And those two fools could rot in here.

Her pure white hearth stone softly clinked against her claw-like fingertips as she pulled it out of a bag by her hip. She held it between her hands and focused her tired mind. An easy spell, constructed to be usable even by fading, dying minds. The green glow washed over her like a warm summer wind.

"Help! Help!" came a shrill call from the darkness.

Sarah did not react to Celandria's shouting until she realized that it was coming closer. And so did the clopping of hooves.

And hissing, and steps of big feet with claws.

Damian and Celandria rushed back into sight, and just behind them were four very angry raptors. One of the beasts caught sight of the green glow and changed course towards it, apparently unwilling to let a possible extra prey escape.

Groaning, Sarah realized that the hearth stone never would be able to teleport her out in time. The incoming attack would only shatter her focus too soon. Rather than be an undead sitting duck she dropped her attempts to activate the stone and instead raised her hand, forcing cold into her will and grumbling the spell with a hoarse voice.

The bolt of ice hit the raptor's foot and it stumbled, tumbling onto the ground.

Her head spinning, Sarah planted the staff back on the ground and dragged herself to her feet.

"Blast them! Shoot one!" Damian shouted, now backed up against a wall and trying to fend off two of the raptors.

"Help!" Celandria shouted, still being chased.

"Fool…" Sarah croaked.

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she staggered around, lifting her staff to catch it between the jaws of the raptor. Somebody else had also gotten to its feet, apparently.

"Come on, blast one!" Damian yelled.

This time Sarah didn't even bother to answer, too busy trying to remain standing. This worked out for about one second before the raptor decided that playtime was over. It bit down on the staff, and with a twist of its neck ripped the weapon from the mage's hands. Before she even had time to curse the beast spun around and smacked her with its tail, sending her flying several yards.

She crashed on the floor, not having a chance to regain her orientation or try to get up before a heavy foot came down on the small of her back, pushing her down. Furiously she craned her neck, finding yet another male druid smugly grinning down at her.

There were not enough curse words in Sarah's dictionary to cover this.

"Help!"

The smug grin disappeared when the druid looked up at the incessant shouting. Instead, his lips twitched into a disbelieving smile a moment before he pressed a hand to his mouth, trying not to laugh.

Not feeling too enthusiastic Sarah tried to turn her head enough to see what was so funny.

It was a mental image so silly she would have laughed if the main character had not been on her side.

The raptor chasing Celandria had finally gotten the little elf caught against a wall. The oh so brave paladin was probably handling this as best she could – which, as it seemed, included shouting for help while standing on the tiptoes of one foot, the other foot lifted from the ground as she curled against the wall and… and…

Well. The only words to describe what Celandria was doing with her sword was… well, poking the raptor on the nose.

The tip of the monster's tail wagged back and forth like a dog's. It seemed to be laughing.

Sarah turned her head, seeing Damian lying unconscious under the feet of his assailants.

Groaning, the Forsaken pressed her head against the ground.

* * *

 

"Don't," Sarah said, holding her finger a mere inch from Jonathan's nose, "ever, ever, tell anybody else in the Undercity about this."

The other mage held a fist against his mouth and loudly coughed – as if he needed to. Even for a living man, it would have been a lousy attempt to hide his very obvious amused smile.

"Yes, of course," he quickly said when Sarah's finger threatened his right eye. "I would not want other people to know about such a stupid defeat either…"

"No," Sarah said, shaking her head. "I meant all the words I used to describe Celandria. They say Lady Sylvanas still likes those sissies, you know."

"A… ha."

Jonathan coughed again, bending down over the table.

There was a moment of silence as Sarah sat back, rubbing her forehead.

"Another drink, miss?" the innkeeper readily asked, perking up.

"Later maybe," Sarah said, giving a tired sort of smile. "The worst is still to come, you see."

She leant forwards and to the side, peering down on the floor.

"Hey, are you going to get back up here and listen to the ending today or tomorrow?" she asked, raising her voice slightly.

At the words Rohdjinn finally stopped laughing, though he still chuckled as he, with some difficulty, climbed back onto his chair.

"Sorry 'bout that, mon…" he chortled, not sounding honest in the least.

Sarah snorted at him, but picked the story back up.

"So, after that not so glorious defeat, we were tied up and dragged deeper inside the caves…"


	3. Cooking with undeads

"Uhm…" Damian said.

" _What_?" Sarah snapped.

The tauren shifted, then sat back, and finally returned to his original place – not that he could move much at all considering that he had his hands tied behind his back, and was stuck in a rather too small cage. But he did his best.

"Err, why are you staring at me like that?" he finally asked.

Sarah raised an eyebrow above the leather straps covering her eyes.

"… well, you know what I mean…" Damian mumbled.

"Ah. Yes. Of course."

Every last syllable whipped at the air like the crack of a lady demon's whip, only with no sexuality involved. Damian shuffled a little closer to the farther side of his cage, trying to look at anything but Sarah.

"I'm trying to kill you with my mind."

She sighed, turning away to lean her face against her shackled arms.

"The real tragedy is that normally I could do it, too…" she growled.

"You don't mean that…" Damian said, but he hardly sounded sure of himself.

Sarah looked up, lips curving.

"Oh yes, I do," she said.

"Don't listen to her, she's just a liar," came Celandria's voice from the cage behind Damian's.

One of the druids stopped in midstep in her quest to carry logs to the fire. The shining eyes turned towards the blood elf, then towards the Forsaken, and back again.

Pale, full lips parted to speak.

"If you're going to tell her that I could probably be called a whole lot worse things than liar," Sarah interrupted, "don't bother."

The druid looked at her again, then shrugged and went to fuel the fire. The fire under the bubbling cauldron, it should be noted.

Sarah's forehead dunked against her arms again. After a little while she straightened up and "glared" at the glimmering shackles fettering her wrists. The glow only intensified when she tried to think of a way to escape – apparently, the anti-magic runes reacted even to that much focus. Well, at least they did not drain her ability to think, though she felt heavy as a rock. Her very, unnatural existence itself seemed to take a toll from the restrains, leaving her on her knees and almost hanging by the chains.

Unless she thought of something, all three of them would be in the bellies of the snake-people and their pet lizards before the next two hours were up.

And the only thing making this worse was that their "hosts" looked suspiciously much like night elves. There was something seriously wrong with this whole scenario.

For a moment she toyed with the thought of Dor'ash coming to the rescue, but pushed it aside as an impossibility. Silly how hope still seemed able to peek up within her, even for rare spurts. Even if he had somehow survived the fall, he would at least have broken half the bones in his body.

And even then by some miracle he hadn't, Sarah had utterly lost track of the winding caverns the prisoners had been dragged to until they were tied up and locked up in these cages. And she had been _there_ the entire time. Dor'ash had no ability to know where they were.

Nope. It was up to her. Her and…

She glanced at the other two cages.

Nope. It was up to her.

She frowned, looking around. One may have gone philosophical about her non-existent eyesight and rambled about mind's eye and all that rot, but even if there was some truth in all of that, Sarah really could not see much more than anybody else.

Several druids were standing guard by the fire, keeping a close eye on the prisoners. Waiting, watching while the one who had gotten the logs stirred the cauldron and dropped a peeled onion and a carrot into the water.

In the shadows beyond the firelight one could catch glimpses of scaly tails and murderous talons. The pets were waiting for theirs, too.

Sarah pondered the very limited options. She could try to chew through the chains. But, the druids would probably notice that very soon and put an end to that attempt. It took too long, and she did not have much time.

Maybe if she tore off her hands? If she could get free from the shackles, she should be able to use magic again.

She gave a tug, only to find that she could hardly move at all anymore. The flow of dark magic which sustained her body was truly drained. Probably had not recovered properly from that whole fall-apart-after-sheeping fiasco earlier.

Then, even if she _did_ get free, she may not be able to do a single thing. Amazing that she still kept together at all anymore, really. Perhaps the last vestiges of dark magic focused on not letting her break apart again. Typical.

This did not look good at all. Sighing, Sarah slumped and wished that she could close her eyes.

"Come on, what are you waiting for? Get us out of here already!" an impatient voice said.

Sarah looked up, more surprised that it was not Damian's voice than anything. Celandria glared at her through the bars of their cages and her thick, blond eyelashes.

"Well?" the elf said, earning odd looks from the druids.

Though Sarah's mouth opened slightly, there was not a single thing she could think of saying.

She tried, with a despair that amazed her, to tell herself that the blonde elf was just being sarcastic. Or taunting the druids, in some bizarre way.

"Seriously, how long are you going to let them keep us here? I've got better things to do."

"Yeah!" Damian exclaimed with a bright, approving smile at Celandria. He turned to Sarah, expression souring. "So, what _are_ you waiting for?"

Sarah opened her mouth, closed it, and then, in a weak, crazy moment she looked around with random hope that maybe they were seeing something that she did not. Like an approaching army of snake-hating trolls or something.

No such luck. There were only the same druids and skulking lizards, though the former were now looking around with suspicion – probably wondering about the same thing as Sarah.

Finally, the undead woman surrendered to the truth.

"You're serious?" she muttered. Then she squared her shoulders and looked straight at her allies. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Well, you're the one who kept agreeing with Dor'ash that we should take it slow and careful and such," Damian huffed. "And look where that brought us!"

The raptors had stopped moving, the druids had stopped smirking, the cook had stopped stirring. All were watching the show with perplexed looks on their faces.

When Sarah did not say a word, Damian shrugged – the closest he could get to throwing out his arms, since his arms were tied… actually, he had probably tried to throw them out, forgetting about all the rope. He had obviously warmed up to this whole talking big and triumphant thing, now that he had figured out that the attempts at tactics had not saved them.

"I say the time for planning is over! We must take action and burst free to fight our way through!" he declared.

Then he glared expectantly at Sarah.

After a moment, a bony fingertip tapped against a shackle.

"I'm tied up with anti-magic chains, Damian," Sarah said.

"Yes?" the tauren said.

One of the druids let out an uncertain chuckle, but seeing that nobody else joined in he quickly fell silent.

A loud sigh came from Celandria's cage.

"Great!" the elf said. "Now she's going to say that she can't use magic again."

The wind distantly howled in some faraway, unreachable exit.

Finally, Sarah gazed through the bars at the group of druids.

"Did you fetter her with the same kind of chains as me?" she asked.

A few of them even jumped at being addressed so directly. Glances were exchanged, and after a moment they all nodded yes to the bony lady. Sarah turned towards the other cages.

"They fettered you with the same kind of chains as me, Celandria. Can you use magic?"

"See! I _told_ you!" the blood elf snarled.

"… Can. You. Use. Magic?"

"Well…" A pause, and then a sour, "no. And it makes me feel sick, you know!"

"Then…?" Sarah said, lingering on the N expectantly.

Another pause. Nobody breathed.

Then, with all the subtlety of a charging gnome…

"I told you she's a liar!"

"Yeah!" Damian shouted.

Sarah's face slammed into the bars in front of her.

Repeatedly.

Looking up after a few headcages (in line with the age old art of headdesking, of course), she found the druids still staring at their prisoners with a mix of amusement, disbelief, and horror on their pale faces.

"Are you hiring?" Sarah deadpanned. She straightened up when they started exchanging glances again. "Please. Seriously. I can burn almost anything, I can brew a wide variety of potions, and I don't need to sleep."

The druids began muttering amongst themselves. As they did, both they and Sarah tried to ignore Damian's continued insistence that she should get started with the breakout.

"Sorry," one of the pale elves finally said, and he did sound honestly sympathetic. "We have a Scaly Only policy."

"Damn…" Sarah sighed. She shook her head. "Well, no telling what Lady Sylvanas would send at me when she found out, anyway…"

One of the druids folded her arms and looked at the cages behind Sarah's.

"Say, why are you telling her to do everything anyway?" the pale lady asked, lips parting in her smirk to show off her fangs. "You should be breaking out yourselves."

The sarcasm passed by despite its flapping, metaphorical arms.

"I damn well would if I had my axe!" Damian snarled.

"But you're all out of axe," the druid said. She tilted her head, cooing out her next words. "And your little ladies are _alll_ out of mana, as some say."

"Come a little closer and I'll rip your little entrails out for even suggesting that I'm his little lady," Sarah growled.

This time she went ignored while the druids chuckled amongst each other. In the silence – a sour silence, in the prisoners' case – that followed, the cook turned around and began tending to the cauldron again.

All seemed to at least be blessedly peaceful, a sort of respite in which one may think and plot again. But then, Damian's voice piped up once more, shattering the relative calm. At first Sarah tried to zone him out, but when she heard what he was actually saying she craned her head in his direction and just stared.

"So, wait…" Damian paused, then frowned as he pondered what he had just heard for another second. Then he suddenly perked up. "You mean that when you guys say that you're out of mana, you think that you can't use magic anymore?"

Silence.

Even Celandria opened and closed her mouth a few times, blinking as she gaped at her companion. And in the end, while the Forsaken and the druids still stood stunned and mute, the blood elf managed to find her voice first.

"… yes. Yes."

She said it weakly, pleadingly watching Damian as if begging that he would not hurt her fragile head with anything equally painful.

No such luck. He perked up even more.

"Ooh!" he said with a nod. "I've always wondered about that."

This piece of information left Sarah so tired that she did not even feel like headcaging again. She just slumped. Well, that did at least explain a few things, considering all. About a whole lot of warriors. And other adventurers too, now that she thought about it.

She even heard some of the druids groan in mental pain.

Unfortunately, they soon got reason to be happy again.

"The broth is just about ready!" the cook cheerfully announced.

Time was definitely running out now. Two of the druids picked up a butcher knife each from the table, grinning widely at the cages. A hard, metallic tapping rose up as Sarah drummed her fingertips against the bars of her cage.

They would certainly not give their prisoners a chance to escape, probably taking them out one by one with everyone helping to make sure any attempt to break free would fail. These druids were not stupid.

Sarah wondered if she would "survive" being cooked and eaten. The ponderings called up no stirring of fear in the remains of her stomach. Those kinds of feelings were long left behind and rotting in the grave she had risen from.

But she was a Forsaken, and if there was one emotion that they all retained it was the hunger for vengeance. She looked around and glared at her two fellow prisoners. They glared back, but not with nearly the same venom. Still not realizing that they would die. Damian's mouth still moved, grumbling about taking too long breaking free.

Would that fool actually get to die without realizing his own guilt?

For the first time since she was bound, rage seethed through Sarah's exhaust. She would not die (again) without revenge.

"So, which one gets to be the appetizer?" the cook asked.

Sarah turned her head again, frowning at the druids. Her gaze was even in her fury helplessly drawn to the cauldron.

For a crazy moment, she thought that they were doing it all wrong. Meat always turned out better when fried before boiled and made into a stew, not soup. Unless it was long, slow cooking that took half the day, but they didn't seem to have nearly enough vegetables around to make that appetizing.

She shook it off. Such silly things had no use in her situation.

But then, like a suddenly cast healing spell in the middle of battle, an idea struck. Sarah started by the force of it, and then her lips parted in a vicious grin.

"Excuse me!" she called out.

The druids looked up from their discussion about whom to eat first, startled by the suddenly cheerful tone in the mage's voice.

"Now look," Sarah continued, "as a practicer of cannibalism I can assure you that us undeads don't taste very good at all…"

"Oh, that's no problem," one of the druids said with a wide grin. Now he didn't look at all sympathetic anymore, as he had a little while ago. "We have a lot of mustard."

Sarah wriggled a finger, nodding.

"Good call," she agreed.

This raised a few eyebrows. She got their full attention again, and smiled.

"So, if you would let me finish what I was saying?" She waited for a moment. "Thank you. Well, I was just thinking, mustard or not I'm really not much to eat."

A few smirks appeared. The druids apparently thought they saw where this was going, and mentally prepared the refusal of any attempt of the ancient "talking her way out of this" trick.

They were not prepared for what came out of Sarah's mouth next. Nobody were.

"So, I was wondering," she sweetly said, nodding at the other two cages, "since you've all got your minds set and all… would you mind killing the two of them first, and let me eat their brains? I'm sure that would fatten even me up."

One could almost hear the heavy thump as this silence fell.

'-'

Sarah emptied the remains of her glass of juice.

"And that's that," she said.

The silence in the bar was not too unlike the one that had occurred in the Wailing Caverns.

"Wait-"

"Wait-"

"Wait-"

All three listeners started at once.

Holding the glass gingerly against her lower lip, pushing it down to show off part of her teeth, Sarah smiled.

"Yes?" she said.

Seeing as they all just gaped at her still, she lifted the glass and studied it.

" _Dear_ me," she muttered. "And here I thought that remembering it all would make me want to get drunk again. That was pretty relieving, actually."

"You offered to join them?" Jonathan choked.

"How did that get you outta there?" the goblin asked.

"You _ate_ 'em, mon?" Rohdjinn blurted.

"Yes. It didn't. Jealous?" Sarah replied.

She chuckled and put the glass on the table, folding her fingers beside it.

"I wasn't serious for real, Jonathan," she said, looking at her kindred. "You know that."

The smile died and she sighed.

"But no," she continued, "that didn't get me out of there. It _did_ fatten me up though, and then the druids broke me up and cooked me too."

This time, Jonathan at least did not stare at her. Noticing the confused looks from the other two people in the audience, Sarah shrugged.

"Well," she said, "after they'd gnawed all the flesh off, they threw my bones all over the place. Luckily, there was enough magic left in me to drag myself, in pieces, over to where they'd thrown my backpack. The hearthstone got me here before they noticed anything."

She sloughed back against the backrest with a loud sigh.

"I've been here all day trying to recover. I haven't gotten half my body weight back, but I'm getting there. It was a pain in the ass when I first managed to put myself back together. People kept attacking me, thinking I was of the Scourge."

"… you ate their brains." The goblin said it in a blank tone, looking very much like he could not decide whether that was horrifying or amusing.

"Yup," Sarah said with a chuckle. "And, Celandria did learn a few better things to call me. At least before they stuffed her mouth full of garlic, the sweethearts."

"Hmm…"

The goblin thought for a moment. Then…

"How were they?"

He met their stares without blinking, at least for a moment. Then he shrugged.

"What? Just kidding."

Even the two undeads visibly relaxed, surprisingly enough. The silent consensus was definitely that you never, ever knew with goblins and their noses for business. Feeling secure enough to be cheerful again, Sarah dropped her verdict.

"They were fat enough to almost clog my throat."

"Not a good ingredient for pizza then… I'm kidding!"

The goblin threw up his hands when he got the Stares again.

"I think you just can't fight your nature," Jonathan finally said.

At that, the goblin's grin actually grew a bit wider.

"Why thank you, good Sir," he chortled, then gave Sarah a meaningful look.

Her lips curled in a wicked smile. Indeed, one should not fight what nature – or tragic fate – has grazed you with. Especially not when it comes to making the best out of even the stupidest situations.

She was about to take the chance to order yet another drink, when she was interrupted.

"I almost feel ashamed that I do not feel rage for the death of old allies," came a growling, deep voice from the door.

Sarah merely tilted her head at the massive shadow and wriggled her fingers in greeting.

"Still breathing, I see," she airily said.

"It was a deep chasm indeed."

The newly arrived orc, whom the others by Sarah's greeting recognized as the now-famous Dor'ash, held up his hand. The pale white hearthstone in his wide palm gleamed slightly in the sunlight glaring through the windows.

He lumbered over and pulled out a chair, which he more fell onto than sat down on. Though it creaked dangerously, the piece of furniture survived the rough treatment.

"I got out of there half a second before hitting the ground," he summed his fate up. Then he looked at Sarah. "And now there are a few taurens back in Thunder Bluff who will want to think that their calf died proudly in battle. Can we agree on that?"

Sarah snorted, but waved her hand dismissively.

"Of course," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, he got killed by those two raptors that knocked him unconscious."

Dor'ash nodded, satisfied.

"What about the elfie?" the innkeeper piped up when the matter seemed settled.

"You couldn't pay me to go to Silvermoon…" Dor'ash muttered.

With a clatter, Sarah clasped her hands and turned her face towards the ceiling.

"Corrupted night elf druids!" she moaned, slowly shaking her head. "She fought valiantly until they overpowered her with sheer numbers. And stuffed garlic in her mouth, but we can leave that out I suppose."

Though Dor'ash shrugged, it was still apparent that he cared a whole lot less about the elf. Probably because Silvermoon was far, far away. The orc turned to the innkeeper, who perked up at once.

"Bring me anything edible with a lot of meat," Dor'ash said. "I'll give you ten silver."

"Coming right up, Sir!"

And off was the goblin, disappearing into the kitchen.

For a moment Dor'ash just sat back, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. But then, just as suddenly he straightened up and took a good look at the rest of the nearby patrons.

"I assume that neither of you are going to give me trouble by telling people the real story?" the orc said.

"Nah, mon."

Rohdjinn grinned, while Jonathan just shrugged as to say that he could care less about spreading the word.

"Too bad wif' the good story, but I get ya," the troll added.

"Speaking of good story, where have you been until now?" Sarah said, raising an eyebrow at Dor'ash.

The orc made a vague motion towards the windows.

"That raptor tore me up while we fell, so even when I got back I was in a bad shape. Friend of mine's been putting me back together until now."

"And dat friend be thinking ya oughta still be restin', mon."

And in marched a lady troll, judging by her gear and the totem in her hand a shaman by trade, just as Dor'ash. Rohdjinn perked up at once, a wide grin taking over his features.

"I oughta put earthbind totems 'round your bed if ye gonna run away when ya get hungry," she went on, swishing over and putting a hand on Dor'ash's armored shoulder – and not giving him a chance to reply either. "If you gone an' told me so I'd have sent a hunter out to catch us something. And-" she didn't even miss a beat turning to Rohdjinn, making it quite clear that she had not at all been concerned with Dor'ash since entering the inn. "- dat be a fine example right here."

She completely abandoned the orc and bent towards Rohdjinn, grinning widely around her tusks.

"Fancy seein' you in dis here dustbowl, Erece," the hunter said.

They relocated to another table so quickly that afterwards, nobody could really tell what exactly had happened.

After a moment, Jonathan looked at Dor'ash.

"You sure aren't having much luck with the ladies, eh?"

The orc, who had not even bothered to turn his head at the trolls' antics, just shrugged.

"Anyway…"

Dor'ash pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy grunt.

"I still have a job to finish inside those blasted caves," he said. "I'll write a few letters to friends in Orgrimmar this time, to back Erece and me up. I'm not going to give another kid with an axe a chance to prove himself."

The chair creaked beneath him as he leant back and closed his eyes.

After a moment he opened one eye, curious about the rustling sound. Sarah had opened one of her bags, lifting a small herb pouch out of it. Snapping it open she peered inside, then shrugged and stuffed it back down.

"I never got a chance to pick enough serpentblooms," she said.

Dor'ash quirked a huge eyebrow.

"I'd never thought anybody would like to go back inside a place where they got cooked and eaten," he said.

"Come now, darling. I'm a Forsaken. Revenge is my reason for moving."

She turned towards the rotting man sitting across her.

"Oh Jonathan, sweetheart…"

But the male mage folded his arms with a loud clatter.

"I don't know," he slowly said, turning his face towards the ceiling. "I don't really have a reason to go in there myself. _And_ I've been across this entire dustbowl in the last two weeks."

In the way he said it though, one would think that he could be easily talked into changing his mind.

In retrospect, Dor'ash knew that he should have known better than to keep watching the events unfold. He definitely should have ducked and covered his ears the moment Sarah stood up and placed one hand and a knee on the table, leaning across the wooden slab.

And if he didn't act in the beginning, he definitely should have made a break for it when Sarah reached forwards and ran her sharp fingertips along Jonathan's jaw line.

"You can relax when we get back, gorgeous," the undead lady murmured, leaning even closer. "Sit back, relax… and let me claw your eyes out. Hmm?"

On the hum, she took his face between both her hands, tilting her head.

"How about it, Schiller?"

A truly unpleasant smile crept across Jonathan's features.

"You foxy little woman," he said.

"Oh, you don't know half of it…"

Dor'ash loudly cleared his throat. The two undeads looked up at him, failing miserably to look like they had no idea what the matter was.

"I was planning on having dinner, Sarah," the orc said. "Don't spoil my appetite."

"Well, if you insist, cap'n."

Sarah crawled back on her chair, but the wicked smile on her face prompted Dor'ash to reinforce his point.

"No flirting on the job."

"Hey, what do you take us for? Gnomes?" Sarah said with a snerk.

"I'd be more concerned about those two, if I were you," Jonathan said, pointing towards the table the two trolls had moved to.

Thanks to Erece's burst of loud laughter, Dor'ash didn't even have to turn around to get the idea. Not that he needed that many clues anyway. Show a troll a troll woman – or night elf lady, if some nutty stories were to be believed – and you have a distracted fellow on your team.

Despite all this, Dor'ash did not in fact hear any whispers of "doom, dooom" from the spirits this time. Before, he had just thought that they wished to warn him about the dangers of the Wailing Caverns itself. Only too late had he realized that they had his allies in mind.

"So…" Dor'ash said, teeth showing in a nasty grin. "We going back there?"

Sarah turned her face towards the window, smirking in the general direction of the Wailing Caverns.

"Rematch, bitch," she murmured.

"But no second helpings for you," Dor'ash added.

"… oh, fine."

The end.


End file.
